Who Knew?
by Missing Triforce
Summary: Songfic! Sherlock and John's life during "The Final Problem" & "Empty House" to the tune of Pink & Adam Lambert. Now a TWO-shot. Warning: Slash & character death ?    Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

A BBC Sherlock Fanfic: Who Knew?

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters, settings, and other story elements belong to respective owners of BBC land & Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. But I love them and happened to put letters in this order The song (in italics) belongs to Pink.**

**SPOILER NOTE FOR THE NON-CANONICAL: Please take heed that this story refers to events of "The Final Problem" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in which Holmes & Watson, pursued by a destroyed and desperate Moriarty, escape to Switzerland. Hidden in the Alps, the Holmes & Watson go for a walk to Reichenbach Falls, and Watson receives a message that a sick Englishwoman back at the hotel wishes to consult him (a hoax). Watson nonetheless leaves and Moriarty appears. Moriarty and Holmes physically fight, both plummeting to their deaths (?) in the falls.**

**Please enjoy the fiction and review!**

_You took my hand, you showed me how_

_You promised me you'd be around_

_Uh huh, that's right_

I reached out my hand to take the ID from his gloved fingers, liking the small tingle that went up my arm at our touch. "Where did you get this? Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that: got plenty back at the flat." I started laughing. This man...was something else. I glanced at him, recognizing confusion on his expressive face. "What?" he asked.

I don't think I could explain it to him. Not properly anyway. "Nothing, just 'Welcome to London.'"

_I took your words and I believed_

_In everything you said to me_

_Yeah huh, that's right_

As soon as I closed the door to the living room I exploded, "Sherlock! What the hell?"

"John, would you stop being upset for 5 minutes-" No matter that I hadn't said a word and struggled (successfully I thought) to not have any angry body language on the taxi ride home. Sherlock bloody Holmes. He went straight to the mantlepiece, pressing his eyes with his hands, refusing to look at me. When he reached the empty fireplace, he just stood there. It infuriated me even more.

"Why didn't you save her? I could have managed it myself!"

"Irene is perfectly capable-"

"THERE WAS A GUN TO HER HEAD, SHERLOCK!"

"Well, in case you didn't notice, you did too. And I..."

His voice had caught and this hitch seemed to dissipate my anger a little. If I was this upset then he probably was more so.

"Sherlock, don't save me next time," I said quietly, releasing the breath that I hadn't known I was holding and letting my somehow extended arms drop to my trembling sides.

"I refuse."

"What?"

"I refuse." He twirled around to face me, arms going to his sides and eyes seemingly swimming with turquoise fire. But then the fire suddenly dimmed. "I refuse to lose you, John Watson. I-you-well." I was stunned. He coughed and straightened his back, seeming to regain composure. "I love you."

_If someone said three years from now_

_You'd be long gone_

_I'd stand up and punch them out_

_Cause they're all wrong_

_I know better_

_Cause you said forever_

_And ever, who knew?_

"And you think he'll be with you forever?" Sally arched her eyebrow, arms crossed her chest.

"Yes." I said and then chuckled. "Well, I'll be with him forever."

"Freak will likely die on you any minute now," she said flippantly, "Unless you die first, running after him as you do."

She made to walk away past me, but I grabbed her shoulder, fingers digging slightly into her coat. "How can you say things like that?" I said dangerous anger lacing my voice to match the glare in my eyes, army intimidation tactics coming through. She shivered in fear. Softer I said, "Since Lestrade has you on his team, I know you can be better, Sally. I'm sorry for whatever Sherlock did to you that made you so jaded against him."

_Remember when we were such fools_

_And so convinced and just too cool_

_Oh no, no no_

We were running down the street, dodging the walking people. The adrenaline raced through my veins and I let out a laugh. Sherlock was ahead of me, great black coat blowing out behind him in the wind. I saw Lestrade's police car heading towards us, its driver looking very annoyed. "Hurry John! In here!" Sherlock made a sharp turn into a shop. I burst into the room, startling customers, upsetting a few cups of tea and knocking some faces closer to their frozen creams then entirely necessary while following my world's only consulting detective past the shop counter through the back door out to another alleyway. I felt so alive.

_I wish I could touch you again_

_I wish I could still call you a friend_

_I'd give anything_

_Kissing in the rain was a wet, pleasurable business._

_When someone said count your blessings now_

_For they're long gone_

_I guess I just didn't know how_

_I was all wrong_

"I'm glad you have come to a satisfactory arrangement, Dr. Watson," said Mycroft, tapping his umbrella against concrete during another one of our faux kidnapping chats.

"Thank you," I grinned.

Mycroft smiled back and then frowned slightly, "But, John as a friend I must warn you, my brother is in an especially dangerous line of business considering present circumstances. Its implications should not be ignored-"

"John, stop talking to him!" shouted a winded Sherlock who erupted through the deserted parking garage's exit stair door. "You really should stop this, Mycroft."

"I'm sorry to worry you, little brother, but I imagined you would find us soon enough."

The said brother stalked indignant to my side, glared at his sibling, and took my hand, gloved fingers warming my cold ones. "Come along, John, we have work to do away from this man." He tugged me towards the door, and I began to follow him.

Turning my head back to Mycroft with an apologetic smile on my face, I told the elder brother, "Thank you for your concern. I understand the risks, but he is worth it."

Before the view of Mycroft was blocked by the metal Exit door, I saw him smile again and nod. He took a deep breath and called after us as the door slammed. "Mummy worries Sherlock."

_But they knew better_

_Still you said forever and ever_

_Who knew? Yeah yeah_

_The worst of it was not being there. It was all left to my (horrific) imagination._

_I'll keep you locked in my head_

_Until we meet again_

_Until we, until we meet again_

_And I won't forget you my friend_

_What happened?_

There was no body, but a grave-marker nonetheless. Outside on the Holmes estate. Inside of my mind.

_If someone said three years from now_

_You'd be long gone_

_I'd stand up and punch them out_

_Cause they're all wrong_

_I didn't know if Sherlock had appreciated flowers as he had done the stars, but I strewed petals to match the universe nonetheless._

_And that last kiss I'll cherish_

_Until we meet again_

_And time makes it harder_

_I wish I could remember_

"John."

I turned around my head around, my mind careening away from the distressed lady back at the Swiss hotel to the strange look on Sherlock's face. Almost...desperate, forced, conflicted: the emotions and counter emotions trying to mask the true ones battling on his face. His eyes looked down at the dirt, "John, I-"

Suddenly, he grabbed my collar, dragged me towards him, and crushed my lips to his, the kiss twinning icy skin and fire need. It didn't fit with the situation: tending a patient a short walk away was not exactly life threatening. Being apart at this time, with Moriarty breathing down our necks, was nerve-wracking though. That must be it. His fingers were literally lifting me up to his height almost, knuckles going white with effort.

"I love you, John," he breathed in my ear the heat of it making my skin prickle.

I wrapped my arms around him. I was here. He needed to know that. I was not going to leave him. Ever. Kissing his temple, his left cheek, his right cheek, and his forehead in tune to each word I replied, "I love you too." Staring him straight into his worried, pained eyes, I intoned, "As it was in the beginning it is now and ever shall be. I am not going to desert you. I will be right back." I kissed him on the lips softly, soothingly.

He relaxed and released me. Watching me stumble away he ran a hand through his hair. "Go," he whispered, looking again at the ground and putting his hands in his coat pockets, kicking a small pebble with his foot. I began to walk away, but the scene changed. I was looking over the cliff seeing the body of my love plummeting down to watery death, the ethereal, pale face upturned towards me, wreathed in blue and white spray. White sheets grasped him, crushed him, and made him disappear from sight forever.

_And then I woke up sweating._

_But I keep your memory_

_You visit me in my sleep_

_My darling, who knew?_

_My darling_

_My darling, who knew?_

_My darling I miss you_

_My darling, who knew?_

I knew it would be dangerous, but not that it would hurt this much. Your ghost haunts me, flitting through dust and mirrors, reminding me of what once was. And I shall carry this scarlet chain that binds us and keeps us and saves us until the end of days.

_Who knew?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Characters belong to BBC/Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Song "What Do You Want From Me" (in italics) belongs to Adam Lambert.**

**Since I am Missing Triforce and all, rule of 3 should apply. So...TA DAH! Sorry it is not a Pink song, but I could not think of one that fit. I hope this one has better formatting than the previous.**

**Enjoy!**

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_Hey, slow it down, whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Yeah, I'm afraid, whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

"Moran at large." Three. Three. Bloody. Words. A name followed by a simple preposition and adjective. How I cursed them as I texted them to Mycroft before chucking the phone in the falls. It meant that I was not going to see him, see John for a while. It was not safe. Even if I survived.

_There might have been a time when I would give myself away_

_Oh, once upon a time, I didn't give a damn_

_But now, here we are, so whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

After 14 days of running and leaving obvious-to-the-observing-mind hints at various key European locales, Mycroft finally caught up with me proving once again the government is always slightly out of its depth. I was sitting on a bed in a log-house, red cotton blanket on my shoulders. No internal wiring or plumbing had ever been installed here. No cell phone reception. But obviously built in the last 50 years. Spare but comfortable furnishings including king-size bed, table meant for two diners, and kitchen area which mostly constituted of cabinets for storage of useful items. A safe-house. For pairs. Created for threatened British spies. Occasionally hacking into Mycroft's computer definitely worthwhile. Also had side benefit of peeving said "minor" governmental official to no end.

I filed this away in my brain to concentrate on more important matters. I heard the unmistakeable sound of Mycroft's car pulling up and my brother's heavy step (and occasional umbrella taps) to the door. I waited. Surely...

But only Mycroft knocked.

"Come in, Mycroft," I said wearily. Why hadn't he brought him?

He opened the door and swiftly closed it behind him as he entered, maroon tie flapping against his large stomach. His face was mixed with relief and seriousness. Business and emotion all together in one structure. "Sherlock," he stated. "I see you are alive."

"Yes."

Suddenly, he did something completely unexpected. He crossed the small space and hugged me. I stiffened. John was the only one who ever...

"Mummy is greatly distressed, Sherlock." Code: I was greatly distressed.

"It is quite alright, brother," I replied, putting my arms around him awkwardly and patting his back as John had shown me once. He released me and stood up while staring down at my face, deducing my previous adventures. The red blanket had slid off my shoulders due to his out of character embrace, but I left if where it had fallen. There were more important matters such as "Where is John, Mycroft? I asked you to bring him here. I can't-" The emotion of missing John trickled into the statement.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but the government needs you to do legwork. Independent, untraceable legwork. You can disappear. People think you're dead, for God's sake."

WHAT? "But! John can disappear too! I work best with him!"

Mycroft sighed. "Dr. Watson can not disappear, Sherlock. Not like you can."

But I had to see him! He had to know I was alive! Frustrated, I put my head down and ran my hands through my hair quickly, noticing how long the curls were becoming. I then glared at my brother. "Mycroft. The only reason I am sitting here right now it because of John. I used to not care. Now I take care because that makes John happy. A dead Sherlock would make John most unhappy. Desperately unhappy. Terrible, unforgiving darkness. He must know I'm alive." As the confession went my voice grew desperate to spite me, my heart making dull thuds in my chest like the delusional punches of a losing boxer who knows the final hit is coming.

"That may be. But the moment he hears of you will be fatal, Sherlock. He will find you in attempt to join and chronicle your quest. However, if you take him on these adventures with you, John will die, Sherlock," said Mycroft cooly. "If you want to see him this badly, I suggest you hurry up." By that crushing enemy blow, my heart stopped.

_Just don't give up, I am workin' it out_

_Please don't give in, I won't let you down_

_It messed me up, need a second to breathe_

_Just keep coming around_

I was running, running, running. The backs I was followed kept changing: a Czech spy, a Russian bomber, a French art dealer, an American businessman, a German arms supplier, a Spanish mobster. One by one Moriarty's network fizzled. Each link was crushed, and I, the catcher of them all, disappeared each time before the police could find me. They called me The Ghost. Ha: I don't know if John would like that.

_Hey, whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

After the first year, Mycroft still would not let me see John. My hands had become permanently cold, the fingertips just as dancingly sensitive when on a case, but unable to change temperature. When not investigating, I simply did not feel them, they weren't there-a transparent afterimage of hands with no life coursing through them. I felt like I really was dead, a figment, an afterthought of forgotten Time. A wil o'whisp to lead Moriatry's colleagues into the murky swamp to be devoured whole by the gaping maw of Mycroft's prison. This feeling-or lack thereof-was compounded by the last John update Mycroft had given. Apparently, Sarah had renewed her affections towards him. I was displeased.

_Yeah, it's plain to see_

_That baby you're beautiful and it's nothing wrong with you_

_It's me, I'm a freak, yeah_

_But thanks for lovin' me 'cause you're doing it perfectly_

Sarah has continued her advances, Mycroft says. Maybe that is good for John? He once said that my sadness is his sadness, my happiness, his happiness. He said the bond worked both ways, connecting us. His pain must be immense now. Can I feel it? Even a tiny echo? He needs comfort nonetheless and Sarah might...Damn this game. Damn this game to hell.

These thoughts make me feel more off balance than I have of late. With every new case there's a misstep, as if there were only 16 steps up to the Baker Street flat instead of 17. But I know the step is there. I walk around now, and it seems like the hole of the missing step is slowly eating away my insides-becoming larger, greater. I'm just...cold, empty space-a hollowed spirit with one fiery purpose to end Moriarty's followers. What happens after that, John?

Please don't-Gaaah. It hurts, John. My heart hurts.

Y_eah, there might have been a time_

_When I would let you slip away_

_I wouldn't even try_

_But I think you could save my life_

At the two year mark, I could not take it anymore.

I had to see him. Damn Mycroft.

No one had been on my tail for at least a month now, so I thought it would be safe. The anniversary of my "death" was no special occasion for anybody. Well, I hoped for the current resident of 221b it was. He hadn't moved out-surely that was a good sign.

I took precautions: I was loosely dressed as a policeman. I did not approach the flat during the day, but waited, standing cloistered in the abandoned flat across the street until nightfall. A convenient raging thunderstorm that was to be blasting London until next Tuesday helped immensely. I only registered that the seemingly now perpetual coldness of my body was now damp.

It was not until both Mrs. Hudson's and John's lights had been out for an hour and a half that I ghosted across Baker Street and let myself in, confidently counting the 17 steps to our flat and opening the door. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and my heart pumped wildly for the first time in two years. Joyful blood sang through my ear drums. Almost there...

The flat itself seemed exactly as I had left it: untidy, mismatched, and skull included. I smiled: John. The glance was all I needed to know he had not forgotten.

I floated like a dream up the stairs towards our bedroom and there he was. His body was splayed under the blankets guarding him against the chill, but he still slept on his designated side of the bed. His hair was longer than I remembered, but still the ashen blonde. More lines etched his face and he was far too thin. Lightening struck, illuminating the room in whiteness, my shadow stretched across John's body like a black wraith all misshapen and curly, before all was plunged once again in semi-gloom. I drew closer slowly, cautiously, not wanting to ruin everything in waking him up. I barely breathed. His rough puddy skin was indeed more lined with sorrow and deep circles bruised his eyes. And was that-

"Sherlock."

I froze and then relaxed as he turned over in his sleep, dreaming. I started breathing again and leaned even closer to his sleeping form. A tear streamed down his face, making a single slivery line. My heart thudded. The thunder rolled. He was dreaming of me. He was depressed. I had to give him hope. To tell him and not tell him at the same time.

"Wait for me, John," I whispered in his ear. "I'm coming back." I kissed him gently, my cold lips barely touching his warm ones. "I love you."

The lightening flashed once again and by the time the thunder came I was back outside and wet, ignoring the desperate calls of "Sherlock!" made by a man who had thought he had seen a ghost.

_Just don't give up, I am workin' it out_

_Please don't give in, I won't let you down_

_It messed me up, need a second to breathe_

_Just keep coming around_

Starting on cases again and seeing John pulled me through what I was determined to be the final year. It gave me renewed energy that raced through my brain, making my eyes observe new things, find new facts, catch more criminals. Every heartbeat was John, John, John. Every breath was I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming.

_Hey, whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

"You seem...more human," said Mycroft, handing me the next list of data on Moriarty's henchmen to catch. I glanced up from the list to see him raise an eyebrow at me. We were back at the log safe-house, and I was once again sitting on the bed with Mycroft annoyingly looming over me, using his standing position to ascertain dominance. As if.

"That is none of your business." I went back to my papers.

He cocked his head sideways and leaned forwards on his umbrella. "You know, even for the people you are supposedly working for, you are difficult to track. You often disappear even to us."

"Is that so. You should hire better workers then."

"Sherlock, after this-"

I cut him off. "After this I am going home to John. At this point, I'm only doing the Queen's dirty work so I can get back to John faster. Patriotism be damned."

"It is also an excellent game," he muttered, cocking his head in deduction, evaluating the truth of my words.

"John outweighs the game. How is he, by the way?"

Mycroft sighed, satisfied with my answer and movements. "He has developed severe pneumonia. Apparently went wandering the streets at night during a thunderstorm three weeks ago in just his pajama bottoms and a scarlet scarf."

Shit.

"He also broke off his relationship with Sarah. Though they remain friends."

I smiled into my papers. "Good, good. Make sure he rests, won't you? No use going out in the rain again."

_Just don't give up on me_

_I won't let you down_

_No, I won't let you down_

I'm hurrying. I'm running. I'm deducting as fast as I can, John. Almost done with this haunting, unfinished business.

_And so just don't give up, I'm workin' it out_

_Please don't give in, I won't let you down_

_It messed me up, need a second to breathe_

_Just keep coming around_

Encrypted Text Conversation between **[The Ghost]** & Mycroft Holmes

[Moran has figured out that I'm alive-TG]

I know, **[The Ghost]**-Mycroft

[Will target JW-TG]

Most likely-Mycroft

[May I live now?-TG]

Yes-Mycroft

[Excellent.-TG]

[I forbid you to speak to me or JW for first week. Possibly two.-TG]

Why?-Mycroft

[Will be too busy.-TG]

[And JW may assassinate.-TG]

I am expecting that-Mycroft

_Hey, whataya want from me?_

My chest was swelling up in excitement and happiness as I eagerly entered the flat disguised as a book salesman. John hadn't noticed yet, but I was practically myself again, bouncing and bobbing about him like a comet to its orbit. "I bumped you in the street, sir, and was wondering if you 'ere all right now. 'nd if you've like to buy some books, sir."

"No, no, thank you. That's very...kind, but you don't need to-Excuse me." John still didn't particularly like being the center to attention, being overwhelmed by my scholastic bumblings. He was still thin, but his hair was shorter now then before. Seconds after my secreted hand had pushed the 'Send' button of my prepared text, he had pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and checked the screen. I kept my eyes glued to it and his ridiculously adorable wooly sweater as I tore off my disguise.

"Look up?" he muttered, face confused.

Not being able to contain myself anymore, I threw my arms out for an anticipated embrace and exclaimed, "John!"

He looked up, shock spreading across this features like a mushroom cloud. He looked down, closed his eyes, shook his head, opened his eyes, and looked up again. I lowered my arms, my happiness dimming. I stepped closer. Was he going into shock? "John," I said gentler, moving to take his hand, "It's me."

He then punched me in the face.

"OUCH!" I yelled, hurtling to the other end of the room near the window. "What was that for?"

He was staring at me, breathing heavily, hair slightly sticking up and ruffled. Beautiful. The warming brown of his eyes that I had missed so long and had been not available for perusal when he was asleep grew in size. "You're real," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm not crazy."

"Of course not, John," I said, rubbing my chin where he had hit me. "And of course I'm real. What do you think I am? Fictional?" Excellent! We were bantering again! Unless John actually thought he had gone mad...I frowned, confused, analyzing.

"I thought you were a ghost," he said, eyes still large, almost eclipsing the moon of his forehead and boring holes into me, taking in my gestures, mannerisms, words. "Metaphorically at first, but then I saw you...How do I know you're not an actor Mycroft sent?"

WHAT. "I'm not an actor. You overestimate my brother's powers," I said through gritted teeth, cursing my stupid sibling. "I'll prove it to you. Come to the window, John." I turned to look out the window and motioned for him to do the same. When he complied, I leaned into him, relishing his warmth. My body was still a bit cold. He stiffened, and I pulled away, disappointed.

Then he leaned heavily into me, sighing. "That's like Sherlock." My heart skipped a few beats, but gallantly hammered on. I really wanted to start kissing him now.

"See that man on the street?" John nodded. I was pointing the tall man with two teenage girls and observed them for a few seconds before continuing, "He enjoys the outdoors, valuing practicality, but also comfort and style. Worn name brand outdoor clothes a dead giveaway. He works outside for a living in warm area probably from the States-California going by the white teeth and tan. According to his calluses and clothes' stains, heavy machinery and plants are part of his everyday job. A plant nursery most like. But his family is apparently wealthy due to its ability to travel with his daughter and her friend and that much money doesn't happen from working just there. Noooo. Has little tolerance for his daughter's non-sense too so upper class but lives in the middle of nowhere where he operates heavy machinery. Some sort of ranch. A smell would be helpful. He has grown slightly deaf: see how his daughter is making signs of over-verbalization for him to follow them. Likes to be in charge and plan evident by him holding the guidebook and backpack. Is here mostly for his daughter's benefit as he is the only one in the group not drooling over the London streets. An annual trip with father it would seem. Compensates for her mother going on her own trips elsewhere with family or friends-you can see by his clean wedding ring that they're still married." I smiled, tumbling the observations and deductions out as they came. Surely he would believe me now.

_Just don't give up, I am workin' it out_

_Please don't give in, I won't let you down_

_It messed me up, need a second to breathe_

_Just keep coming around_

John sucked in a breath as I finished and buried his head into my chest. "It's really you," he whispered. But then I could feel his lips form a hard line. He gritted his teeth, whole body tensing up. "Why did you let me think you were dead?"

My smile faded a little as I put my arms around him. Sucking in his warmth, I buried my head into his shoulder. I breathed in his scent. A mixture of citrus and tea and wool. "Mycroft. Too dangerous for you."

"Let me decide that next time." He turned his body and pressed it against mine, arms around my frame, crushing me too him. He was so hot compared to my coldness. I let the warmth envelop me, fill my hollow space. The John-shaped hollow space.

I pulled away a little to look him in the eyes. Facing all his sorrow and hurt and then watching his liquid love drowning them, overcoming them. "There won't be a next time, John. Never ever ever." We kissed roughly, all teeth and tongue and moans making an electric current shooting down my spine to bind us. I felt alive again, very particle, every cell alive. Every connection hyperactive and radiating. Every "Sherlock" and "Don't you ever do that to me again" rippling through the universe. I would give this man whatever he wanted as long as my heart continued to beat.

_Hey, whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_Whataya want from me?_

_

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**Author's Note 2: The End! YAY! I hope I have Sherlock's character correct...or close to correct. Enough to recognize that this is Sherlock Holmes and not lovesick swain number 5,7002 though they are nice too. What do you think?**

**Also, Youtube videos of these songs applied to "Sherlock" inspired me to write this fanfiction using the same music. Here they are for your enjoyment: **

"**Sherlock~Who Knew" by Penguinshipping ****.com/watch?v=WyYIjjgbDeo**

"**Sherlock & John II What Do You Want From Me" by Nero749 ****.com/watch?v=Be6glHDrPjU**

**=D**


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